by J A Heaton
Daniel raced outside with the Russian prisoner and picked up the guard’s rifle. He looked up to the mountain ridge surrounding the prison and picked out the spot where he’d already cut a hole in the fence. Daniel made his way up the steep and rocky incline with the Russian prisoner following close behind.
Without having to worry about stealth, Daniel forced himself to get to the top as quickly as possible. He repeatedly glanced back, constantly afraid somebody would return before he made it out of sight. Just as Daniel made it to the top and laid down with his chest heaving, he looked down and saw a set of headlights crawl into the black site.
Just in time, Daniel thought to himself. He recognized the make of the vehicle. A Russian Niva.
Daniel allowed himself one more deep breath and then pressed on and crawled through the hole in the fence. As he waited for the Russian to come through, he realized that, although he had left the facility just in time, it may not have been soon enough.
Daniel recognized the outline of the first man to exit the vehicle below. It was the bald man from the Intercontinental Hotel. Others got out of the driver’s seat and the backseat, and the bald man’s head jerked about as he took in the scene. Daniel knew the guard’s absence must have alerted him. And perhaps he noticed the blasted door.
Daniel heard the man release a string of Russian yelling and orders to the others, and they began moving quickly.
Daniel knew it wouldn’t be long until they found the other guard, discover that somebody had visited, and then come searching for him.
Daniel calculated that they had the off-road vehicle, more men, and they didn’t have to worry about a weak prisoner keeping pace.
But they haven’t started after me yet, Daniel thought to himself. I’m still one step ahead.
Daniel saw the bald man below with another man standing by him in the light in front of the prison building. A second man dragged the guard out and threw him on the ground before the others. He went back into the prison.
Daniel sensed that they were going to execute the defeated guard for his incompetence.
Daniel wanted to start running away, but he couldn’t help but watch. He had to gather as much intel as possible.
Daniel pulled out his binoculars to get a better view.
He focused on the Niva they had arrived in, but he was unable to see if there was still somebody in the car. It wasn’t clear. He waited. If the Wolf got out of the vehicle right then and there, this whole mess could end.
Would it be Ambassador Fitzpatrick? Or Billy? Or…
“Oh no,” Daniel said quietly as he watched a fourth Russian pull a man out of the prison and thrust him onto the ground near the defeated guard.
The bald man placed the guard Daniel had knocked out and Michael Devers about fifteen yards apart from each other. He manipulated a pistol and then set it on the ground in between them.
Daniel guessed the game that was going to unfold. The two men would race towards the gun, which probably had a single bullet in it, and whoever got the pistol first would shoot the other.
What a sick game, Daniel thought to himself. And even if Michael wins, they will kill him, anyway.
The guard who had been pitted against Michael Devers stood up and began yelling in Russian to his old comrades. Daniel had no idea what he was saying, whether he was appealing to their humanity, or if he was begging those who had once been his friends to give him another chance.
Either way, the bald man had had enough. He feigned as if he were going to punch the guard, who then shifted away slightly.
The bald man, with incredible agility, instead took a step and then spun around with a vicious roundhouse kick that smashed his foot into the man’s head.
The man crumpled to the ground. That blow to the head, plus the damage Daniel had previously done, knocked him out.
Now the other Russians were jeering, showing mock outrage that they had lost their opportunity at sport. The bald man held his hands out defensively as if to say, What was I to do?
Daniel was relieved that he wouldn’t have to witness such a horrible game, but then he realized what was next for Michael Devers.
Daniel instinctively reached for his Glock, but at this range, the handgun was not going to be accurate. He took the guard’s Kalashnikov rifle and looked through the scope downwards. Daniel felt little confidence in his aim. He had only fired a rifle like this once before. And this one felt different in his hands. Perhaps the Russian had modified it, or perhaps it had slightly different specifications.
Daniel paused.
Firing would give away his position. If he didn’t get at least one lucky hit, the remaining Russians would hunt him mercilessly.
Daniel pulled his head away from the rifle’s scope. He could leave now. He would have more time to make his escape.
And then I’ll have to live with myself, Daniel thought. I promised Michael that Americans would come back to rescue him. That will have to be me.
Daniel put the crosshairs on the man with the bald head and decided not to wait.
Daniel pulled the trigger, and the crack of the Kalashnikov rifle sent a bullet sailing down.
The shot missed wide and buried itself in the dust several feet to the side.
Daniel cursed to himself. If he had cut off the snake’s head with his first shot, his and Michael’s odds of survival would have been much higher.
The Russians below realized what had happened as soon as they heard the shot, and they took cover against the buildings. Michael Devers tried to do the same, but the bald man gunned him down just as he rose to his feet. The other Russians began to fire back towards Daniel’s elevated position.
As Michael began bleeding out on the ground, Daniel repeatedly pulled the trigger, raining bullets down. Anger blinded Daniel.
He wasn’t sure if he was hitting anybody.
He didn’t care.
He unloaded the magazine, and then he threw the rifle to the side.
Without saying anything to the Russian prisoner, he rose to his feet and began running.
Moments later, a herd of goats blocked his path, but Daniel remembered what Edwards had said: “The Russians always seemed one step ahead, making the most out of everything.”
I’m one step ahead, Daniel thought to himself, but I don’t know if I can make it stay that way.
An idea came to Daniel, and he drew his knife. He waded into the herd of goats. Daniel grabbed one of the larger goats and slashed at it with his blade. He dodged its angry kicks and made sure it dripped blood before shoving it away. He booted several other goats to send them running.
With any luck, the Russians will think they hit me and follow the trail of blood.
Daniel turned the other way and ran into the night with the Russian prisoner not far behind. He didn’t stop until he reached the opposite mountain ridge and Dmitri’s dacha was nearly in sight.
“Daniel?”
Thank God, Daniel thought at the sound of Rex’s voice.
“We need to get out of here,” Daniel said.
“Gunner and Walters will cover our escape,” Rex said.
A few hours later, after rough hiking during which Daniel explained to Rex what he had discovered, Daniel and the others finally exited the mountains.
The injured goat had worked perfectly; neither Gunner nor Walters fought off any pursuers.
The Wolf descended into the Maxim Gorky subway station in Tashkent. His black jacket made him appear as nearly every other man in Tashkent, and the black hat he wore was not uncommon. He held no bag, for the police loved to stop and search anybody who carried a bag onto the subway system. Of course, it was for security, but it was also to line the pockets of the subway policeman. Policemen were also on the lookout for any kind of recording device; cameras were strictly forbidden on the subway system, and this suited the Wolf’s purposes well. The last thing he wanted was somebody producing photographic evidence of him meeting with somebody new on the subway.
The Wolf
walked as slowly and confidently as he could, but inwardly, he felt the net tightening around him. He had felt it before, but the KGB had always eliminated the threats. Now, there were too many, and his FSB master had not seemed willing to flex his muscle.
Without glancing at the subway map on the wall, he proceeded to the turnstile and placed a blue subway token into the slot and passed through. He was always careful to have a supply of subway tokens in his coat pocket. He could never risk a long line and a delay.
A policeman waiting near the turnstile approached the Wolf and pointed towards his hands in his coat pocket.
“Pockets? Security,” the policeman said.
The Wolf was agitated by the slight delay. He had an important meeting. He did not comply. He looked into the policeman’s eyes and said in textbook-perfect Russian, “I will forgive you for not knowing who I am this one time.” He pulled his ID from his pocket and gave the policeman a split second to look at it before he carried on silently without revealing what else he had in his pockets.
Petty policemen, the Wolf thought to himself. Nothing but trumped-up toll collectors.
The Wolf descended several flights of steps and watched a subway train pull away. He would have to wait for the next one, though it shouldn’t be long. He glanced at the clock. He would still be able to make his meeting. The Wolf recalled the route in his mind and the bench at which he would sit. To avoid drawing attention to himself by studying subway maps, he had committed Tashkent’s subway map to heart long ago, just as he had memorized the subway maps of each major city he visited.
After a few minutes, he boarded a subway train and got off four stops later. With a glance at the large clock hanging over the subway platform, the Wolf found his bench and sat down, pretending to wait for his ride. He had a few moments to relax before his contact would arrive, and he breathed in deeply, taking in the cool air with the faint scent of motor oil from the subway.
The subway was not as busy as he had hoped. He felt somewhat exposed. There were not near as many people about as he would’ve liked to provide cover. With this few people, anybody arriving on the subway platform would take note of him. He only hoped they would forget him because he was dressed like every other man: black coat, black hat, and looking tired of life. And that was exactly how the Wolf felt now. He had been playing the game for a long time, perhaps too long, and he knew it was only a matter of time until the Americans, his own countrymen, got lucky and caught him.
They wouldn’t catch him because they would beat him.
Oh no, even the most idiotic spies got lucky at some point or another.
They would catch him because even minuscule odds would catch up to him at some point.
The Wolf shut his eyes for a few moments, contemplating what he would say to his contact. He would have to make it as concise and urgent as possible. He opened his eyes when he heard the light clicking of high heels approaching. He couldn’t help but look when a blond woman sat at the bench. There were a few feet between them, but the Wolf knew that his contact would never come to meet him like this. The contact would have to sit between the woman and the Wolf.
The Wolf cursed inwardly. Protocol dictated he would leave and go to the backup meeting.
But this is an emergency. There is no backup meeting.
His eyes went up and down the lithe woman sitting only a few feet away from him, her legs tightly crossed. Indeed, she had no other option but to tightly cross her legs, given the skirt she was wearing. It only made the Wolf curse inwardly again. His long career of treachery had taught him to never trust a woman. He knew his fellow countrymen would shake their heads in disgust at such a non-egalitarian and misogynistic outlook, but he had learned from experience and couldn’t always afford to pay attention to what was politically correct.
Another subway car arrived. Maybe the woman would board it. Or a friend might get off and meet her, and then she would leave. But she appeared content to examine her perfectly manicured nails. The subway’s doors opened as soon as the car came to a stop, and the Wolf knew this was the last opportunity for his contact to arrive. Then the window of opportunity would close. But the Wolf had to meet.
The Wolf slowly stood up and yawned, pretending he needed to stretch his legs. He wandered several yards the other way to another bench that was empty.
It was a risk.
It was the wrong bench. He hated to break protocol, but he hoped his contact would see the situation and sit with him at the incorrect location.
The Wolf had no other choice. He decided to move to the other bench as people started to hustle off the newly arrived subway car. The Wolf forced himself not to look about for the contact getting off the subway. To distract himself, his sweaty hand fondled the extra subway tokens in his pocket.
“Excuse me,” the woman said in Russian as the last of the subway passengers straggled by. “Did you hear that the subway fare is going to increase soon?” Her voice made even such a simple question sound seductive.
Still continuing his charade of needing to stretch his legs, the Wolf returned to his original bench. He bit his tongue and considered what to say. Inwardly, he fumed that his master had sent a contact who would draw so much attention to him.
The woman leaned towards the Wolf slightly, a move that would draw any man’s eyes down to her chest. “Don’t worry. Everybody will look away from the old man meeting with his mistress.”
This only made the Wolf angrier.
Old man?
“Sometimes, when you call such an urgent meeting, improvisation is required,” she said. She gave a slight smile and reached out and touched his knee lightly, and scooted a few inches towards him. She was playing the part of a mistress perfectly.
Everything within him told him that he should stand up and walk away. But he didn’t have time for that. The net was being tightened around him, even if by luck.
“Once the master has tied up all the loose ends, I want out,” the Wolf said simply. “I will be no good to the master dead or captured. But if I get out now, I will speak freely of all that I know.”
The woman acted as if she had heard none of the Wolf’s offer. Rather, she said, “The master requires just one more thing from you. Then, he says you can have whatever you want.” She spoke this last phrase slowly and placed her hand back on his knee, but it crept up higher. The Wolf thought back to the last time he had been with a woman. Again, his instincts told him to get up and leave. But he figured it couldn’t hurt to at least listen to the plan. She kept her hand on his leg.
With her other hand, she deftly placed a folded piece of paper into his pocket. She carefully explained the plan to him. She had provided login credentials with which he would steal a load of intelligence, and all with the perfect cover. It didn’t take her long to tell him everything else that was going to happen and what was required of him. The Wolf knew that if he refused his master, he would have to suffer the consequences. And the master, he knew perfectly well, was an expert at making others suffer.
But his master also offered an incredible opportunity.
Besides, he couldn’t stand the possibility of that upstart kid gloating at his defeat. He couldn’t tolerate the idea of everybody in the halls of Langley cheering his capture, cursing him, and then proclaiming how they suspected it had been him all along.
The Wolf made up his mind quickly. The master’s plan would grow his legend, and he would be the greatest spy ever. Aldrich Ames and Kim Philby would one day be considered small precursors to the Wolf, and they would never know who the Wolf was.
The ultimate triumph of the spy.
“Tell the master to make sure he ties up all the loose ends, and I will do my part.”
I will be the greatest, the Wolf thought to himself
The woman leaned forward once more, placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and said, “I look forward to your performance.”
It was then that the Wolf recalled where he recognized her from.
They both got up,
and the woman boarded the first subway to leave while the Wolf ascended to the street. With his master’s plan in place, he welcomed the net tightening around him. He would use it to his advantage. He was no longer frightened, but confident that he would be perfectly protected from the United States intelligence community for years to come while he destroyed America from the inside.
13
Karshi-Khanabad Airbase (K2), Uzbekistan.
About 4 AM.
None of Daniel’s shots were accurate.
He rubbed his eyes from exhaustion after putting the rifle down at the shooting range at the K2 Airbase in Southern Uzbekistan.
Walters had turned the hour-and-a-half journey from the Shahrisabz area to the K2 Airbase into a drive that lasted just over an hour in a Humvee. Most of the ride had been spent with Daniel on the satellite phone with Jenny. A full briefing was scheduled for 8 AM, and Daniel had relayed the most vital information over the phone for Jenny and Muhammad to research before then. Investigating Michael Devers, Vasyli Fedorov, the bald man, and the fact that Billy looked more suspicious would keep both of them busy until then.
Daniel had decided not to mention to Jenny that he now suspected Officer Carter. Michael Devers had known her, and he may have been captured because of her. Officer Carter could potentially see any of Jenny’s communications. Before Jenny signed off, she told Daniel that Tina should be at K2 by the time he arrived, and so he should be sure to see her.
But when Daniel finally arrived at K2 just before four in the morning, he had decided to wait to see Tina. Instead, he sent digital copies of the documents from the black site to Jenny, and then he went to the base’s shooting range. He didn’t want to encounter the complexity that Tina represented while he was in the field. He yearned for the simplicity of target practice.
But his next several shots revealed he was not improving.
How much more practice until I would have been able to make the shot and save Michael Devers? Michael asked himself after each round. His aim was progressively getting worse. He couldn’t get the picture of Michael Devers bleeding to death out of his mind. And the small dust plume from the bullet that missed the bald man.